Autorickshaws are hot items abroad,
but not
in the U.S.
BY BILLY COX
FLORIDA TODAY

At 73, Ronald Flynn still has
enough air in the tires to describe
himself as "handsome, debonair, a
connoisseur of fine wine, lover and
defender of the faith."
Having exhausted two wives, he talks
wistfully of his long lost affair
with high-performing Cessna
aircraft. And lest anyone doubt his
petroleum-slurping street cred,
there's a Chevy van and a 1978
Cadillac Coup de Ville beneath the
carport.

"I keep (the Caddy) around in
case Ashley Judd calls someday and
says, 'I'll meet you down at the
bar,' " Flynn says.

These details matter because the
retired flight-control dispatcher
for Federal Express doesn't want
anyone to think he's lost his
marbles and gone Third World.

"I've worked hard for 40, 45
years, breaking my (butt) so I could
have a few toys," he cautions. "And
that's what this is."

"This" is a three-wheeled,
motorized contraption that looks
like a prop in a British farce.
Alien to American eyes but a roadway
staple in Asia, Flynn's street-legal
toy (unlike golf carts) is a
motorized tricycle with a cab called
an autorickshaw. Weighing in at 650
pounds and sputtering along atop a
little 49cc engine, the vehicle's
top speed is 40 mph, but it gets 70
miles a gallon.

Low-rider.
Ronald Flynn
drives his
autorickshaw
down Kiwi Drive
in Barefoot
Bay. The vehicle
is a motorized
tricycle with a
cab that weighs
650 pounds, has
a top speed of
40 mph and gets
70 miles a
gallon. It
boasts space in
the rear and
beneath the
seats. Kathleen
Hinkel, FLORIDA
TODAY

How do I
look?
Ronald Flynn of
Barefoot Bay
cruises around
in his
autorickshaw.
The vehicle, a
Bajaj, is an
Indian export
that requires
neither a
motorcycle
license nor
insurance to
drive. Kathleen
Hinkel, FLORIDA
TODAY

Like at least four nearby
Barefoot Bay neighbors, Flynn
initially intended to buy a scooter
when he went shopping online for an
extra set of wheels last year. But
when he came across Internet photos
of the autorickshaw, he figured
three tires were better than two.

"At my age, you know? I mean, how
much trouble can you get into at 40
miles an hour?" he wondered. "Unless
you happen to be a real ---hole."

The thing was called a Bajaj, an
Indian export that requires neither
a motorcycle license nor insurance
to drive. The Bajaj was better than
a golf cart, since he could take it
down the road to run errands, and
the sticker price of $6,400 wasn't
dreadful.

At this point, it would be
tempting to report Flynn is riding
the first wave in a rising tide of
alternative transportation created
by the spike in fuel prices, but Al
Kolvites says that wouldn't be
entirely accurate.

Based in San Francisco, Kolvites
is president of ArgoUSA, which deals
primarily with cycles and scooters,
and has a monopoly on the Bajaj
market in America. The vehicles are
produced in Pune, India, but they're
fabricated around an original
Italian design by Piaggio, renowned
for Vespa scooters.

Kolvites says Bajaj autorickshaws
are huge in India and enjoy varying
degrees of success in 50 to 60
countries. But they've only been
imported into the States during the
past two years, and he's not
optimistic over their domestic
prospects, despite the gas-miser
reputations.

"I've been asking (Bajaj) to put
automatic transmissions in their
three-wheelers for years, because
less than 5 percent of U.S. cars
produced today have manual
transmissions," Kolvites says. "But
they won't do it. They say 99
percent of their customers want
manual in order to get higher
mileage. So it's gonna be a tough
market here."

Even so, Kolvites declines to say
how many autorickshaws he's sold in
the States during the past two years
for fear of tipping off potential
competitors. What's certain is the
vehicles are hard to find. ArgoUSA
lists nine authorized dealers in
Florida, none of whom operate on the
Space Coast. Flynn ordered his from
a shop in Largo called GekGo
Scooters.

Not so fast on the commercial
angle, Kolvites warns.

"You better do your homework
first to see if you need insurance
in your state or, if you do, can you
even get it," Kolvites says. "See
how your city and how your state
treat taxis. And taxi commissions --
there's going to be a lot of
resistance. It's a long, long way
off before we'll see three-wheelers
on taxis."

The only way autorickshaws will
make a ripple with American
consumers is with automatic
transmissions, Kolvites insists.
He's already looking to find Chinese
manufacturers who can deliver.

"At that point, grandmas are
gonna go crazy, because they'll be
able to pick up their friends on the
way to the bingo parlor and grab a
carton of milk on the way home," he
adds.

For Flynn, a satisfied customer
who can stash groceries in the rear
as well as inside the hollow
compartments beneath the front and
back seats, his star-spangled Bajaj
nevertheless poses something of a
philosophical dilemma.

"Look at this," he says as he
retrieves a wood-carved giraffe head
off his wall. It looks like a
souvenir from Africa, but the
manufacturer's tag below states
otherwise. He offers a piece of
pottery with a pre-Columbian aura,
and a red-white-and-blue pocketknife
featuring the image of an American
eagle.

"Made in China, made in China,
everything's made in China," says
the romantic Flynn, waiting for the
phone to ring as Andrea Bocelli
croons "Besame Mucho" on the
living-room CD player.
"Things are getting crazy."